Derailed
by honest.hypocrite
Summary: Right after Dumbledore's funeral, Harry breaks up with Ginny to keep her safe, which proves to be useless in the long run, because Voldemort takes her with him anyway. R&R.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1: Taken_

On the backdrop of a tragic funeral, Harry Potter had broken up with her.

She had not expected him to sugar-coat his words or spare her the painful truth, when the inevitable had stood between all along.

Dumbledore's death had served as a bitter reminder of the realities they were fighting against.

Ginny was not as self-absorbed as to imagine this was about her and Harry, but there was no going around it. Their relationship, if it could be called that, had been doomed from the start.

She had tried all these years to tell herself otherwise, but she had always come to the same conclusion.

'Ginny, listen...' Harry had told her as the people who had attended the service started to move about, 'I can't be involved with you anymore. We've got to stop seeing each other. We can't be together.'(1)

It was strange, but now that these words had finally been uttered, Ginny felt a horrible sense of relief and disgust washing over her; relief that Harry would no longer be burdened with her and she would not have to pretend to make things work anymore, and disgust with herself for accepting this situation so easily. In a way, she would have wanted to be more revolted. She was angry with the world, but not angry enough to protest the end of their brief relationship.

'It's for some stupid, noble reason, isn't it?'(2) she had asked.

'It's been like...like something out of someone else's life, these last few weeks with you. But I can't...we can't...I've got things to do alone now.'(3)

In the following silence, Harry had waited wordlessly for her to say something. Maybe he had waited for a fiery argument on her part, maybe he had expected tears. But she could not will herself to say anything that would hide how she truly felt about it; that this was the end. And that, more importantly, she had felt like this for a long time.

'Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to,' Harry continued bitterly. 'He's already used you as bait once, and that was just because you're my best friend's sister. Think how much danger you'll be in if we keep this up. He'll know, he'll find out. He'll try and get to me through you.'(4)

The mention of Voldemort's name made her flinch involuntarily. She wasn't afraid of him anymore, but whenever she thought of him, she was taken back to her youthful days, when she had been under his command. She knew all too well Voldemort, or better yet, Tom Riddle, used people. She had been used and thrown away, just like any other victim of his. But Harry's words implied that she had been submitted to torture and mind possession only because she was Ron Weasley's sister, who was Harry's closest friend. In truth, Tom could have picked anyone else to bear this burden, but she had been the convenient person at the time, young and naive, weak and gullible and, most importantly, closely tied to the Boy Who Lived. And while Ginny had lived with this humiliating truth all these years, its reminder was as bitter as always. The idea that he might submit her again and use her to get to Harry was terrifying, but she knew that if she and Tom Riddle were to cross paths again, she would not hesitate to do everything in her power to stop him from harming Harry.

'I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you. I don't care what happens to me, because I've already seen what he can do,' she confessed.

'Ginny, please, don't speak like that. It would kill me to know you were harmed because of me. I need you to be safe. I...I can't lose you...or anyone else.'

'There will be sacrifices along the way, Harry, you can't prevent that.'

'I will try for as long as I can, Ginny. No one has to die for me anymore. I can't allow it. I will fight my own battles.'

'Dumbledore's man through and through,' she repeated what he had said to Scrimgeour.

He nodded grimly.

'I knew this would happen in the end. You wouldn't be able to rest until you hunted him down,' she added. 'That's what I like about you, Harry. You never give up.'

Harry sighed and caressed her cheek longingly.

'I don't want to give you up, Ginny. I really don't. But I have to, because I love you.'

Harry's confession startled her. Her eyes widened considerably. She had not expected him to declare his love while he was breaking up. It had been so direct, so honest and so unguarded that she had thought for a moment that she had heard him wrong. But his expression told her everything she needed to know.

And it tore her into tiny pieces that she could not tell him she loved him back. Her love for him was something special, it was a mixture of admiration and affection, but it was not the kind of love Harry would have wanted from her.

'I...I understand,' she replied instead, feeling like a fool. 'I know why you must do this.'

If Harry had been disappointed by her frugal reply, he did not show it, but he blamed her sudden reluctance on the tragic events that had transpired in the last couple of nights.

'I will always be on your side, Harry. And I will always fight for you,' she said after some quiet moments.

'I know,' he said, holding her hand gently. She felt his pulse between her fingers and smiled at the warmth of his gesture.

He slipped something light inside her palm.

'Harry, may I have a word?' Rufus Scrimgeour called from afar. He held her eyes for a moment longer, before he let go of her hand and brushed past her with the frailty of a ghost.

When she looked down at her hand, she discovered a small vial of swirling gold liquid.

Felix Felicis.

Unshed tears were threatening to fall from her eyes, but she knew that they were not going to alleviate her guilt.

This young boy whose heart was so wonderful did not deserve to be let down by anyone, much less her. He was the most selfless person she had ever met. It almost sickened her to think that such a kind soul had suffered so much at the hand of the worst man alive. It was not fair. It would never be fair.

And now, he had given her the remains of his lucky potion instead of keeping it for himself.

In these moments, Ginny wished she really did love Harry Potter, heart and soul.

But she had not told him the truth, it wouldn't have been of any use to anyone. And it wouldn't have mattered now that a new war was about to break. It would have only hurt him more and he had had enough of that.

As she watched the crowd disperse around her in small groups across the field, she realized she was going to have to live with this alone.

* * *

><p>Ginny couldn't recall the exact moment when she had discovered she did not truly love Harry Potter. She had worshipped him for so long that she had confused her blind admiration with deeper feelings. It had started with a small crush and had developed into a sort of brotherly affection which she had not bothered to analyze. That is why it had been quite a blow to find out she had been lying to herself all that time.<p>

In the books, a girl like her would always end up with the hero of the story. It was an unwritten rule. She hated that rule. Her mother used to tell her Harry would choose her in the end, but Ginny had never wanted to be a 'choice'. She had wanted a 'chance', which was an entirely different thing. Well, she had gotten her chance. Being with him had been a strange experience. She had kissed him like she had kissed other boys, she had gone out with him, had spent time with him and talked of unimportant things, just like she had done in the past with Michael Corner. It had been much more special, though, because he was Harry and they meant a lot to each other, but it had not been enough. Despite their mutual understanding, holding hands with him or standing by the Black Lake in a loving embrace had felt incestuous. His promises for a better, brighter future had fallen flat. And his contagious smile had not been able to erase everything that had happened.

It was a tragedy that Ginny Weasley, the girl of his dreams, did not want to be in them.

It was more tragic that Harry had no idea about her feelings.

He had always resented the fact that no one ever told him anything, that he was made to live in the dark. Now it was inevitable that he should remain in the dark.

Her forehead leant against the cold pane of the foggy window, her eyelids closing and opening momentarily as she fought the heavy langour that was spreading through her bones.

The train meandered through the grey valleys, casting a long shadow over the slants of yellow soil, reminding her of a decaying body. The bristling June rain was harrowing, every drop falling like a hammer on her fragile nerves.

Perhaps this wasn't the best of times to be sitting idly while the scenery moved quickly before her eyes. Perhaps the right thing to do was to run out of her compartment, find Harry and tell him she wasn't about to let him fight alone, that he didn't have to bear it all alone, Voldemort or Tom Riddle be damned.

She might not have loved him, but she could at least give him her unwavering loyalty.

She was about to get up in determination when she remembered he wasn't on the train. He hadn't left with the rest of them and she hadn't said goodbye.

She cursed her weakness. She was tied to her seat. There was nothing behind her and nothing in front of her, only the grey valleys and the constant fear.

Hogwarts would not stand a chance without Dumbledore, she knew that. He had been a staple of hope and safety to everyone living there. With him gone, Hogwarts had no purpose. It was going to be the imminent victim of an escalating war.

The muggle world would follow closely. Muggles would be submitted as easily as children and the world would cower before Riddle.

Between these two realms, Ginny felt desperately helpless.

The door to her compartment flew open and Luna stepped inside quietly, dragging her heavy luggage behind her. She looked a bit more weather-beaten than usual. Ginny rose to help her lift it up. Neville entered after her with a gaunt expression plastered on his face as if he had not seen the sun in a while.

The three of them sat down eventually without speaking a word to each other. They felt words would only make matters worse. Their Headmaster had died. Hogwarts was falling.

There was no point in making conversation.

It was only after the stretch of an hour that Luna put down the Quibbler and broke the silence.

'Do you feel that?' she asked, looking around disconcerted.

Ginny raised her eyes to hers.

'Feel what?'

'There's something foreign in the air...I can't put my finger on it,' she muttered, looking out the window with a grimace.

Neville patted her hand briefly.

'It's just the rain, Luna. It's getting dark,' he said awkwardly.

'No,' she contradicted him, shaking her head. 'There's something out there. I can feel it.'

'Hogwarts was ambushed not five nights ago. I'd expect anything by now,' Ginny said morosely, feeling the throbbing pulse at her temples.

'We should have our wands ready,' Luna advised, though she was aware that Ginny and Neville were both holding theirs tightly.

Five more minutes passed in tense silence.

Suddenly, they heard a screeching, metallic noise outside, almost as if someone were bending cable wires across the rails.

Luna's eyes darkened. 'Merlin, please let me not be right.'

A heavy pause followed the wrenching sounds. Beads of sweat were falling down their foreheads, sticking to their skin like shards of glass, warm and sharp.

The window pane trembled briefly and another terrible shriek filled the air.

Neville rose up out of the blue and bravely opened the compartment doors, popping his head outside to inspect if anyone else had heard the jarring noise.

He noticed other reluctant heads coming out of their compartments.

'Did you hear that?' someone was saying quietly.

'Yeah, I think we hit something. Or maybe we're making a stop,' another voice replied.

'I don't think we've ever made a stop anywhere. No, it must be some problem with the rails.'

'Was it lightning?'

'No, it sounded like metal.'

Neville was about to intervene when he suddenly felt the ground shaking. At first it was a small turbulence, but then his legs started moving without his accord. The train was rocking back and forth. Neville grabbed the door frame quickly and sank his nails in his palms.

'Neville, what's happening out there?' Ginny asked behind him, her voice urgent and demanding.

'I don't know! I think we're...'

'We're being attacked,' Luna finished for him, pushing him aside gently. 'We have to go find the Order members. We have to stick together.'

'There's no time for that,' Ginny said, taking out her wand. 'If there's someone out there, we'll _all_ have to fight, not just the Order.'

'There are First Years on the train, Ginny.'

She closed her eyes. 'I know.'

The train shook again, throwing Luna into Neville's arms. He pulled her to his chest.

'We need to get out of here,' he mumbled.

'There's only one way out,' Ginny said, pointing at the windows.

Neville clamped his hand over Luna's and dragged her outside. 'Come on, let's find Dean and Seamus.'

'I'll go find the Ministry Aurors,' Ginny told them, going the other way. The Ministry of Magic had sent trained wizards to guard the children leaving Hogwarts.

Ginny hoped they would be of some help to them if they really were being attacked.

She had thought that after infiltrating Hogwarts, they wouldn't be attacking so soon again. It seemed unlike them, even if she knew she couldn't apply logic to Death Eaters.

'Lisa, have you seen the Ministry Aurors?' she asked a frightened Lisa Turpin as she made her way through the throngs of people that were now filling the corridors.

'N-no...I think they're u-up front.'

Ginny nodded her head and moved past her, wishing that someone would help her find them.

She roamed every compartment with her eyes just in case anyone from outside had gotten in.

She halted when she saw drops of blood on the floor. She followed the trail and discovered that it led to a compartment whose doors were shut tightly over a limp, bloodied hand.

She gasped.

'Everyone, be ready to use your wands!' she shouted towards the students.

She pushed open the doors and her fears materialized before her eyes. Two of the Aurors were lying dead on the floor, their faces contorted into one last grimace of pain, their limbs showing clear signs of torture.

The compartment window was broken.

They were already inside. She had to move quickly. She had to -

'There she is, boys. Handed to us on a silver platter,' a wicked voice drawled behind her.

She gripped her wand tightly and turned around.

'Petrificus Totalus!' she shouted and one of the Death Eaters fell on the floor, but the other two immobilized her, binding her legs and arms.

'You'll pay for that one, you bloody - ' one of them shouted in her ear, pulling her by the hair.

Ginny struggled against him angrily.

'If you don't take your filthy hands off me I swear -'

'You'll what, darling? Beg for mercy?'

'I will make you regret your allegiance to that wretched, foul -'

'Careful, sweetheart, I wouldn't want to kill you for slandering his name,' the Death Eater warned her darkly, sticking his wand into her throat.

'Don't get stupid, Nott,' his companion intervened. 'We'll let _him_ take care of her.'

'But I want to have a little fun with Potter's girl - '

'I'll kill you sooner than let you do anything to me!' Ginny shouted, jerking her knees against his ribcage.

'Look at'er man! She's begging for a little shake.'

'Fool! We are supposed to follow orders, not play around. You can go hunt another Ministry idiot if you feel the need.'

Ginny realized with a pang that this wasn't an attack. They were just here for her.

'You're a dull sport, Macnair.'

'I'm the one getting things done around here,' he said, gripping Ginny's chin roughly.

She tried wrenching herself out of his grip, but he was stronger.

'Now you listen to me, if you don't want all your beloved friends to die right here and right now, you won't put up a fight anymore.'

Ginny stared daggers at him.

'You wouldn't. Riddle didn't order you to do that,' she spoke glacially.

The Death Eater almost jumped at the sound of the name. He had not heard it in years.

'The _Dark Lord_ did not say we shouldn't remove any obstacle in our way,' he contradicted her, his nails digging sharply in her cheeks.

'I will repeat myself one more time; do you want your friends to die?'

Ginny fought back the hot tears forming at the corner of her eyes.

'No.'

'Very well then. Will you obey?'

'If you promise to take me and leave, yes,' she replied.

'Ah, you needn't say more,' he replied cordially.

'Should we wait for Goyle to wake up?' the first Death Eater asked carelessly.

'No, he'll Apparate later. We're running out of time,' the other replied, checking a small hourglass at the base of his neck.

Pulling her between them, the two Death Eaters apparated with a soft and sinister pop, leaving chaos and panic behind.

* * *

><p>(1) Rowling, J.K., <em>Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince<em>, Chapter 30, page 423, PDF format.

(2) Idem

(3) Idem

(4) Idem


	2. Chapter 2

_I want to thank Lolita and springawakening1894 for their reviews, I appreciate the kind words. And I agree with Lolita, it is a bit strange that Harry picked a possible copy of his mother, despite the fact that this is usual. Here's to hoping this chapter lives up to the first.  
><em>

_Chapter 2: Horcrux_

If they had really Apparated, Ginny would have never been able to tell. In the midst of all that confusion and chaos, she had felt slightly dizzy and sick, her sight fraught with hazy layers of snow, as if she had fallen out of bed and into the road.

Only when she had been thrown into the bleak corner of a cemented floor, did it begin to dawn on her that she was in danger.

Ginny had always suffered from this deficiency, never truly understanding how dangerous a situation could be. She supposed that's what had got her into Gryffindor to begin with; a witless courage.

She summoned this courage now as she tried waking up after what felt like hours of an exhausting coma.

Her first instinct was to draw her wand so she could cast a warming spell because it was nearly freezing. But she was searching in vain; her wand was gone and nowhere to be seen, probably destroyed by now.

Upon reluctantly opening her eyes, she discovered she was looking at iron bars.

The first thought that went through her head was Azkaban. Her eyes travelled from the length of the bars towards the cracked, watery ceiling.

She was in a cell. There was no window. The only source of light came from the dimly lit hallway which led, as far as she could tell, to other small, dirty cells occupied by quiet prisoners. She could hear their breaths stirring the dry air, but not one of them uttered a single word.

Faintly, she got up, first on her elbows then on her knees, until the nauseating feeling of vertigo died away.

Her skin was sticky and cold, pinched with frozen needles. Her hair was wet and slick. Her eyes stung from the dirt trickling down her forehead. Her clothes were in a better state, but not by far. She was sure her jeans were half-torn but she did not have the necessary light to examine them.

She could only base her assumptions on feelings. Not altogether safe perhaps.

She began growing curious as to why everyone was so quiet around her.

'Is anyone there?' she asked hoarsely, knowing full well that there was.

No one replied, however. Were they all sleeping? She could hardly imagine anyone resting in such a place.

Hearing her voice had made her realize she was parched. She needed water desperately.

'Can anybody hear me?' she tried again, managing to keep the panic in her voice in check.

'Just say yes or no,' she pleaded a second time.

Slowly, she dragged her body towards the iron bars and stuck her face between them as her fingers laced around the stone-cold metal.

'Where are _we_?' she asked more defiantly.

She noticed that the soft tremors she had heard before had increased and had turned into a throaty whisper.

'Are you alright...?' she asked weakly, staring into the darkness of the cells around her. She could make out a hand lying limply on the floor in one cell or a foot resting against the wall in another.

'Oi! Quiet in there!' an angry voice shouted from afar, breaking the calm illusion of solitude.

'Who is there?' Ginny asked louder. 'Reveal yourself!'

Suddenly, the prisoner lying in the opposite cell raised himself and stumbled towards the bars.

He pointed his finger at her. 'You'll get hell for this one.'

His voice sounded like a deafening bolt from another world. She almost covered her ears in fright.

It was too late though.

A masked man was already standing in front of her cell.

'Crucio.'

* * *

><p>'I can see your concern, My Lord,' Malfoy spoke, the weight of his emotions dangling in his voice.<p>

'Can you now?' Tom asked, feigning interest.

'Yes, but let me assure you that this matter will not present a problem. The giants have promised to be on our side from the beginning and they will not change their tune just because of some long-lost ties, not after we have shown them what we can offer,' Malfoy continued more confidently.

Tom brushed the white chess pieces with his fingers and they instantly moved to slaughter Malfoy's red ones.

The latter winced, but said nothing about it, having grown accustomed to his weakness in mind games. From time to time he cast his Master an odd glance, not too intrusive but cursory enough to make sure his eyes were not cheating him, that he was in fact looking at Lord Voldemort.

It had started some months ago, but it had been very subtle, almost unnoticeable. Now, it was a bit hard to neglect entirely and even The Dark Lord must have become aware of this unprecedented change.

He looked younger, or rather, he was growing younger.

Lucius suspected his master had either procured more Unicorn blood or had used a Philosopher's Stone to increase his life span. He knew that such magical elements only prolonged life, but he wondered whether he had found a new use for them.

Malfoy knew Lord Voldemort had never been shy about the fact that he was not very pleased with his rebirth. He had died a strong, powerful, healthy, fully-fledged wizard and had returned as a decrepit bag of bones, barely a body, yielding his wand as if it was another cartilage.

But he hadn't expected his master to do anything about it.

He supposed he had been wrong.

'It is not polite to stare, Malfoy. State your object of fascination,' Tom's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Lucius quickly looked down at his chess pieces.

'I was only thinking my way out, My Lord,' he said, pointing at the chess board. 'As I was saying, you should have no qualms about the Giants...'

'I have no qualms about them since they are generally stupid creatures. A riot in their midst is nothing but a tantrum. Now tell me, what has arrested your gaze?'

Lucius knew that lying would be discovered immediately. He had been a bit too obvious this time around and it had caught his attention. It was bound to happen sometime, though, wasn't it? Was he expecting his followers not to notice at all and be quiet about it?

Yes, probably.

Fortunately for him, he was saved by a momentary distraction.

Tom's brows instantly creased into a deep-lined frown which split his face in two. It was not his usual demanding expression; it was something Lucius had not seen in a very long time.

Tom's face was contorted in a soft pang of pain.

'My Lord...is something the matter?' Lucius asked immediately, taking this opportunity to divert his thoughts.

Tom felt very puzzled. He recalled this feeling. It had happened before in the previous months. It had been a shadow of discomfort, something akin to a stone in his shoe. He had taken notice of it, but he hadn't felt bothered.

Now, however, the discomfort had become pain and he felt a sharp sting right in his brain.

He realized it must be the Horcruxes. When Dumbledore had destroyed the ring, he had felt a similar breach inside of him, but not quite as effective and present as this.

Either someone had found the Horcrux he had with him in his current residence – Malfoy Manor – or...

'No. I was only thinking,' he replied quietly.

...or another Horcrux was suffering.

* * *

><p>Ginny bent into a painful arch as the shots of undiluted, pristine pain twisted her bones like twigs. The worst part was that she was still lucid. Usually, when the pain was too much to take, the mind would mechanically shut down, as a natural form of defence, but it seemed that an Unforgivable did not allow this luxury and one had to bear it out remaining completely rational.<p>

It was strange what simple, stupid thoughts could come into her mind at a time like this. They were fragmentary and frail, nothing too complex could be borne in her condition.

Bits and pieces of moments spent with the girls in Gryffindor, asking her about Harry.

She had never given straight answers. She would let them make assumptions and she would just say "yes" or "no". Her lips now were curving into the same words.

While her entire body suffered, her mind was working hard to escape her constraints and push aside the thoughts that poured in without any consideration for her misery.

She almost begged her mind to sleep, begged her senses to stop feeling, so she would finally collapse, unconscious, and leave the pain to someone else.

When it all ended abruptly, she did not even notice it, the reverberations of pain lasted long into the next hours in which she felt more alone than ever.

* * *

><p>The morning rays looked naked on the grey sheets of his bed. Tom sat with his hands pressed into the mattress, a grim expression on his face.<p>

'Which one is it? Which one of my lovely pieces of soul has been damaged?' he asked himself aloud.

'It can't be you, Nagini. You are here, safe and sound,' he said, a note of fondness creeping into his voice as he caressed the slithering figure wrapped around his feet.

'Let's see,' he said almost jovially, as if the prospect of weakness was somehow pleasant to him.

'The Cup is at Gringotts and hardly anyone could extract it from the vault. I searched Bella's mind last night and I didn't find anything to suggest she has tempered with it. I dread having to pay a visit to Gringotts myself. That place is infernal.'

Nagini moved away from him, as if she had taken offence with his words.

'Don't pretend it's not,' he argued, addressing the snake.

'The diadem is at Hogwarts and though I do not suspect anyone having found it, there is the problem of Helena Ravenclaw, lurking about with this knowledge. I should probably retrieve all my pieces. What a tiresome thing that will be.'

'The sword is in the vault, along with the cup. Gringotts again. Horrid. But it can't be the sword of course, it is not a Horcrux,' he mumbled.

He was startled by his own voice. It was indifferent and tired. He wondered in anger when he had become sick of it, sick of his own soul. He considered it a task to retrieve his Horcruxes even if he knew his power depended on them. He had grown too accustomed with the notion of invincibility, with the untouchable quality of his Horcruxes, but hadn't two been destroyed already? He was fooling himself into believing the others couldn't be.

'Then it must be the Locket,' he concluded morosely.

He was going to visit the cave of his childhood again. He had not gone there for quite some time. He had avoided it. He did not like having to travel.

Deep down, he was a complete hedonist who savoured in the sweet languor of inactivity, letting only his mind work its ways endlessly.

Was there anything better in the world, he thought, than standing in the stark morning light, knowing you would see this light many years to come, knowing you would never see darkness?

He would never be buried in the cold, empty stench. He would never have to close his eyes on a world that would cast his name in a shadow. He would never have to wake up as if there was an end to his life or his power.

The beautiful Gods must have felt the same.

But the beautiful Gods did not complain. They did what was necessary. And what they did came so easily to them.

He had known hardship. He had been stained.

He was no longer the tall Adonis of his youth and he would never be. He would never inspire true respect.

There was a knock in the parlour. He walked out of his private chambers and saw one of his nameless subordinates walk through the door, followed by Macnair.

'You will be happy, my Lord, to know that Miss - I mean, Ginerva Weasley is currently in the East Dungeons,' the unknown man spoke meekly.

Macnair nodded his head, smirking.

'She is currently..._asleep_, my Lord, would you want us to wake her up?' Macnair asked suggestively.

Tom gazed into the furled edges of the carpet. Would he like to wake her up?

'Has she said anything?' he inquired after a long pause.

'She has tried speaking to the other prisoners. We calmed her down,' the subordinate informed him.

'Good. Bring her to me only when she is _docile_,' he said, absent-mindedly.

'Docile, my Lord?' Macnair asked.

'If you cannot comprehend my orders there is no point in keeping you here.'

'Oh, I do, my Lord, of course, but – pardon me, but the girl will not be docile for a while, the way she has been howling all night.'

'Howling? Didn't you say she was..._asleep_?'

'Well, yes, she fell into a state of unconsciousness two hours ago but she kept shouting and making sounds all night,' the subordinate explained for Macnair.

'Making sounds? Is that how you'd describe it?' Tom asked, arching his eyebrows.

'Well, My Lord, the sounds a wounded animal would make,' the subordinate tried again.

'Very poetic. Has she tried to lick her wounds then?' Tom asked in derision.

'Well, I don't reckon. She had nothing to – ' he began, but stopped when Macnair hit him over the shoulder.

'When she has finished "making sounds", you may take her out with the other prisoners,' Tom spoke. 'But until then, she will remain in her cell.'

'Understood, My Lord,' they both said at the same time.

When they were gone, Tom went over to his cupboard and poured himself a glass of liquor. He looked out the window towards the Eastern Side of Malfoy Manor.

He wondered in amusement whether the girl still remembered him.


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay, I am the worst I know. I haven't updated in ever and I have few excuses. Thanks so much to everyone who still read and stuck to this story despite my absolute insolence. After many a writer's block I am back. I want to thank all of you again for the lovely reviews, I did not expect so much encouragement!  
><em>

_**Kitty Black Cat** (thank you for the lovely review, I hope I can answer some of your questions in this chapter, but some will come later, I'm really happy you like it!); **SourSugarQuills** (thanks for the review, I like how everyone's amused by Riddle's reactions so far:) as for him loving her, no, we're far from that now, but well, you'll have to read to find out);** Ms Wintersleep** (updated now! so thank you for supporting my story:) ); **springawakening1894** (thank you once more for reviewing, glad you like young Tom:)); **jinglyjess** (hi, sorry for making you wait so long, hope you enjoy and thank you!); **Outlaw-Lanaya** (well, it will take some time but it will happen:)).  
><em>

_Please enjoy:)_

* * *

><p><em>Holy water cannot help you now <em>  
><em>See I've come to burn your kingdom down <em>  
><em>And no rivers and no lakes, can put the fire out <em>  
><em>I'm gonna raise the stakes; I'm gonna smoke you out <em>

_Seven devils all around you _  
><em>Seven devils in my house <em>  
><em>See they were there when I woke up this morning <em>  
><em>I'll be dead before the day is done<em>

Florence + The Machine - Seven Devils_  
><em>

_Chapter 3: Memories  
><em>

_Keeping track of time was very important_, she had read once in a wizard novel about the First War. It was a direct account of one of Grindelwald's prisoners. He had described how he had survived almost an entire year locked up in an underground cave.

At the time, she had not thought it would matter so much now. She never really thought she would be in such a situation to begin with.

She had entertained the possibility of war, of course. She had taken into account the fact that her proximity to Harry Potter and the Golden Trio might result in some form of harm, but it had never truly materialized itself.

Even her unfortunate meeting with Tom Riddle in her First Year hadn't prepared her for this; she had not at first registered it as a direct consequence of Harry Potter's influence because it had happened before she had befriended him.

No matter what plans Lucius Malfoy had had at the time, no matter how much everything revolved around The Boy Who Lived, she had wanted to believe she had only been saved and not condemned by Harry Potter. Even if later years had revealed the opposite, even if she had had to bury the shame of being a transitory victim in the much bigger scheme of killing Harry Potter, she had maintained the conviction that nothing truly physical could take place; that it was only her mind that was scarred.

Which is why now that it had actually happened – the evil of her childhood and the danger of association had both taken form in this cell – she could not quite grasp it.

She was lying on the cold, wet floor, surrounded by darkness and filth, her every limb aching painfully, begging to be numbed, and she was watching drops of black water fall on her burning forehead, but she was still wondering whether it wasn't all a nightmare, a game, or a trick of the mind.

Logically, she knew why she had been kidnapped, why it made sense for her to be taken first and why she should have expected this sort of danger from the start, but she still couldn't wrap her mind around it.

Deep down you know it, you've read about it, you've seen the pictures in a newspaper, you've listened to hushed discussions between your parents, but you never think it would really happen to you.

It's the same with death; the difference is that death is permanent, whereas she had no idea how much longer she would lie there, helpless and alone.

That is why keeping track of time was so important. She _was_ helpless and alone and she didn't know anything. So she had to pay attention to what she did know; she had to count the hours and make sense of the progression of days and nights.

Even if she got it wrong, even if she thought it was night when it was day, even if she was just fooling herself, she had to do it. That's what the author of that novel had said himself. He sometimes felt like he was counting down the time until he died, but it helped, either way. It kept him thinking, kept him alert, rational, human.

And what else could she do, really?

If she got up again and tried approaching the bars to call out for someone or talk to those dreadfully quiet inmates she had spotted across the dark hallway, she would probably get another punishment, maybe worse than Crucio.

And she would do just about everything only to avoid being subjected to that curse again.

In addition to keeping the time, what kept her awake and thinking was the question, the question that every prisoner has to answer what one point: When will I crack?

She had estimated that only five days had passed, but she was already having a hard time breathing in there. And what did "cracking" really entail? What did it mean? That she would start crying, begging for her life and mercy? Promising to give or tell them anything they wanted?

She had already cried for hours, knees drawn to her chest, yelling obscenities and cursing everyone around her - the howling that the Death Eaters had described to their Master - but she had not begged them for anything, not because she was too proud, but because she knew it would be in vain.

Those people, the men patrolling the corridors, they weren't in charge and she knew it all too well.

The only one who could show her mercy was Tom Riddle himself and so far, he planned on keeping her locked up until Harry Potter came to save her.

It was ironic. She would have laughed; Harry had broken up with her to prevent just this.

She wished he had been wrong. She wished she didn't have to be the prize; the damsel in distress; the proverbial love interest that drives the hero to slay the dragon.

She felt like a joint of meat, exchanged between two men; one younger, a boy, the other not even a real man.

And there was nothing she could do about it. She was someone's weakness, not someone's strength.

Sometime at noon (or what she considered to be noon by her estimations), she was given her usual ratio of food.

Well, it wasn't really food. It looked like hotchpotch made to resemble a sort of gruel. It had tiny bits of old bread and pudding crusts in it.

She had to crawl towards the bars to drag the small plate towards her.

She had learnt in the first two days that if she wasn't fast enough, an inmate from the adjoining cell would make sure to take it for her. It wasn't really stealing; nothing belonged to anybody and people were desperate enough; they did not care about the others, much less whether they got their miserable gruel or not.

Ginny had had to starve because she had not known, had not grown as desperate yet.

But the lack of food and water was the least of her problems.

Her clothes had become unbearable. They stuck to her skin like a thick layer of dirt and it made her nauseous. She smelt horrible but everything else around her smelt the same, so she hardly felt self-conscious. The problem was that she couldn't get used to the smell; every day it grew even staler and even more pungent because all inmates had to relieve themselves in a hole at the back of their cells. She had had to do the same on her third day, an act which had turned her stomach inside out and had made her dig her nails deep into her skin out of shame and humiliation.

There is no worse torture than witnessing your own carnal existence fragmented into physiological needs that become the burdening centre of what once was your entire life. She was reduced to an animal without a conscience.

She had to lie in her own filth and try to think, with all the misery digging holes into her skin, trying to reach her mind and shut it down.

But all throughout those hellish days, she had not once felt sad.

No. She only felt angry. Deeply, deeply angry. When she had cried, most of her tears had been tears of anger.

Her anger had become quiet, it is true, but it was still there. She was only tired, but she would start again, when she gathered enough strength.

If she had felt anything else as profoundly as she felt this anger, Voldemort might have sensed it, just as he had sensed the pain, but as he was always angry himself, he didn't mind it.

His Horcrux was an angry fragment of an angry soul.

* * *

><p>Tom slept in his bed that night, dreaming of Ginny Weasley.<p>

It had never happened before; dreaming of her.

The other pieces of his soul had absorbed the memory of his young self when his Horcrux-diary had been destroyed and once he had been reborn, his own soul had regained knowledge of this young girl he had tormented so, but anything more than a recollection had not crossed his mind for quite some time.

There were moments when he remembered something he normally should not have remembered; the words and actions of the adolescent Tom Riddle towards the Weasley child.

That younger Tom was still him, but he was vastly different. They weren't the same; he was _real_ and that Tom was only a memory locked in a Horcrux. When the diary was destroyed, that piece of his soul was destroyed with it, but this memory persisted; not only the memory of his youth which was hard to escape but the memory of Ginny Weasley.

He had no way of knowing why; he had no way of knowing the truth.

His head rested against soft pillows and his face looked as calm and serene as any simple man's.

The dream started off at Hogwarts at another one of Professor Slughorn's Slug Club meetings. Tom had already asked about the Horcruxes by this point and Slughorn was considerably less warm to him, seeing as he regretted having imparted such knowledge to a student.

Still, he did not feel uncomfortable sitting there, feasting and talking nonsense like everybody else, smiling teasingly at one of the many Black cousins, the one that was the most desperate about getting a husband as quick as possible.

He felt so very normal and common, chatting and drinking and chatting some more; it almost felt pleasant, dreadfully so.

The problem was that he couldn't thoroughly enjoy himself.

There was this nagging doubt at the back of his head. He was staring at his Potions master, wondering from time to time whether he was not hiding something from him.

He kept thinking the man had not told him everything. He wanted to know more and more. A brief and shaky account of what he considered to be the peak of mastery in the Dark Arts couldn't satisfy him.

He wished Slughorn were different. He wished he were strong and ambitious; a true Slytherin able to help him.

Instead, he was stuck with a buffoon.

Then, halfway through the sumptuous meal, someone knocked at the door and a young girl entered the room.

She seemed like darkness stepping out from another darkness. Her hair was wild and red, like a barely concealed flame. She had warm brown eyes that smiled even when her lips did not.

She seemed nervous, but not entirely scared of being there.

She was also dressed in a shabby, but pretty-looking black dress.

Ginny.

"Ah, Miss Weasley! I am so glad you decided to come. Please, do make yourself at home! You are among friends here," Slughorn greeted her, getting up.

Ginny advanced towards the table, staring warily at the people around it.

She didn't seem to know anybody. Then her eyes landed on Tom.

"Where shall we seat you? Hmm? Oh, Mr. Rosier, would you be so kind as to let Ginevra sit next to you?"

Tom frowned at the name. Ginevra. How...how vulgar.

But Miss Weasley seemed to have other plans. Without a word, she walked up to Riddle and searching his face for the answer to a question, she bent down until her mouth was levelled with his ear and whispered:

"McGonagall was looking for you in the corridor. I think it's urgent."

Tom looked up confused. Her brown eyes seemed to swallow everything around him; they were like an empty room, looking for an occupant.

He did not want to get stuck there.

But there was something inescapable about her body leaning towards him with such ease and confidence, as if she knew him, had always known him, would always know him. As if she liked him.

There was trust and warmth and something else in the shape of her face.

He did not know why Minerva McGonagall, an insufferable Gryffindor know-it-all he could not stand, was looking for him. He didn't even have a clue as to why she was telling him this in the first place, but something compelled him to get up and excuse himself.

He walked out of the room into the empty corridor, waiting for Minerva to appear but there was no one. Only the statues and the torches.

He was about to go back in the room and rightfully punish that insolent girl, when the door suddenly opened and she snuck out, a mischievous expression on her face.

Before he could even muster a reaction, she jumped into his arms and kissed him fully on the lips, holding him in a vice grip.

He opened his eyes, flabbergasted, watching her kiss him, as his unresponsive lips slowly but surely started moving against hers.

He wanted to talk, to shout, to do anything but stand there, but he actually kissed her back.

It felt like being punched in the stomach repeatedly. Her breaths travelled into his mouth, down his throat, into his depths, poisoning him.

Tom pushed her away and she had the audacity to laugh.

"Sorry, I know I took you by surprise there, but we've got four hours ahead of us and as your girlfriend I needed something to get by. You understand," she said, grinning happily.

Tom stepped back, staggering lightly from the impact of the kiss.

"Whatever gave you the impression that you can come near me like this? And claim to be my girlfriend?" he spat, astonished and angry.

Ginny only ruffled his hair in response, apparently unaffected by his words.

He tried pushing her away again, but he only touched air.

His eyes opened. He was standing upright in bed, his arms extended towards an invisible Ginny Weasley.

Tom Riddle sat there in the dark, feeling the soft sheets underneath him, his heart racing, his thoughts crumbling and regrouping until he could muster a coherent reaction.

Her hair in flames. Her black dress. Slughorn's beaming face at her appearance.

Why would he dream that? Why would he see her of all people during a Slug Club meeting?

Why would he dream...of kissing her? Why was she so different? Why did she accept him so gladly? And why had she jumped into his arms?

It was all so absurd and ridiculous. It bore no meaning, absolutely none.

He surmised he had conjured her in his mind as consequence of her being brought here, in his proximity, trapped somewhere in the Malfoy dungeons, hundreds of feet away, but still close enough to garner a reaction.

An irrelevant reaction, at that, he thought.

What kind of man was he to dream of little girls?

She had not been little in his dream, though. She had been young, but not a child. She had been pretty; common, but pretty. Full of life. As if she had never met him. But her warm brown eyes, he remembered, had still held some reserve as she had entered the room, so maybe she had met him.

When she had looked at him, she had seen someone harmless, someone she cared for.

He would have put the pieces together right then and there, but his head ached and as he lowered it on the pillow once more, he let himself fall asleep, his mind clouded, but too exhausted to continue.

Yet it was true, he was dreaming his memories...and hers.

* * *

><p><em>So...what do you think? Good, bad, let me know:)<em>


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